


drawing a blank

by moonjuicewiththepresident



Series: tma [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders-centric, Creepy, Horror, Magnus Achives Fusion, idk what to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonjuicewiththepresident/pseuds/moonjuicewiththepresident
Summary: Topped with a bright red top hat and clutching a whip, it created rather a striking effect; Roman spent longer than he should have trying to get it absolutely perfect. When it was done, though, he knew it had been worth it. The shiny blank face stared out from below the vivid red, and the hand clutched the whip at such an angle it seemed as though the smooth plastic flesh might leap to life any second with a crack.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: tma [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707199
Kudos: 14





	drawing a blank

Working in a large department store can be kind of strange, Roman decided. He had jobs in a couple over the last few years and talked to people who’ve worked in others, and they all seem to operate slightly differently.

Some treat every department almost as a separate business, with its own dedicated team, some move their workforce around regularly, so they don’t get too comfortable. A few operate almost entirely by leasing out spaces to specific companies, like the individual perfume or makeup counters, so you have an array of small, isolated teams on their little island of product.

Roman personally preferred the second sort, as it gives him an opportunity to work with a lot of different people and products, and he had a tendency to get… bored if everything gets too samey for too long.

So Fanton’s worked pretty well for him, at least at first. It’s not like customer service was his passion; the public is a moaning, dreadful bunch, but it was only a part-time job to put him through art school, and his colleagues were mostly a decent lot.

What Roman did enjoy, and what he tried to be involved in every time it came up, were the displays. He was mainly studying illustration, but he’d always had an interest in design more generally, so when the seasons turned and we changed up the displays in the windows and on the shop floor, he always made a point to try and be on the team helping to set them up. Roman’s line manager, Logan, knew this and generally let him do so.

He wasn’t sure if he actually sped things up, to be honest. He was a bit of perfectionist, and between posing and dressing the mannequins and setting up the props, he probably delayed the whole process more than a bit, but everyone was very patient with him as he directed them on how he thought they should assemble the bits he couldn’t easily reach.

Maybe if he’d left this display alone, or even let Logan do it, things might have turned out differently.

This was about a month ago, just as they were starting to put out the autumn displays. These are always Roman’s favorites because, aside from the obvious duffel coats and Halloween stuff, the slightly more… unexpected or avant-garde displays tended to be up over the autumn.

The theme for this particular one was ‘Nights at the Circus’. There were acrobat mannequins in hoops, a rather well-made paper maché lion and the centerpiece: a mannequin set up like a ring mistress, dressed in some of the more theatrical clothes that Fanton’s was selling that season.

Topped with a bright red top hat and clutching a whip, it created rather a striking effect; Roman spent longer than he should have trying to get it absolutely perfect. When it was done, though, he knew it had been worth it. The shiny blank face stared out from below the vivid red, and the hand clutched the whip at such an angle it seemed as though the smooth plastic flesh might leap to life any second with a crack.

There was one other reason Roman quite enjoyed working at Fanton’s, and that was it gave him ample opportunity to practice his figure drawing. Because of his classes, he tended to end up working the later shifts, and Logan would usually let him stay past closing time, where he would spend hours drawing and redrawing each static figure - the different poses and costumes and displays gave Roman fantastic practice. It was almost meditative. He’ll always be grateful to Logan for letting him do that - a lot of the higher-ups were kind of assholes about it, hiding behind faux-concern that “his condition made closing up on his own potentially dangerous”, but Logan, to his credit, ignored them and they never had an issue. Well, not that sort of issue, at least.

So obviously, once the ‘Nights at the Circus’ display went up, Roman spent several evenings drawing and redrawing it, copying every curve of the almost featureless face, the line of the limbs, the poise of the feet, over and over until he got it right. So when he came in one day to find that the ring mistress mannequin had been replaced, Roman knew instantly. It was wearing the same clothes, certainly, and was posed the same way, but he could see the difference.

If Roman hadn’t known it in such detail, he never would have noticed. Certainly, no-one else mentioned it, and when he asked Logan if there’d been a change, he just gave him a blank look. Roman was sure, though. The arms were just a little bit longer, the neck ever-so-slightly twisted, and the face, where before there had just been the faintest hint of a nose and a slight smile, was almost completely blank, save for a small patch of broken plastic near its forehead.

Sometime after Roman had left the previous night, someone must have snuck in, undressed and removed the mannequin already there, and put the clothes on this new one before replacing it in the exact same position. It didn’t make any sense.

Roman thought about trying to bring more attention to it, but nothing had been stolen, and the changes were so small that, even if he could convince them, what were they going to do about it? So he kept quiet. Roman was working in the soft furnishings department that week, and the mannequin was down in menswear, so he didn’t see it that much. Even so, any time he had an excuse to go past it, Roman made sure he did. There was something about this new one, something in the way it didn’t quite fit with all the other figures on display, the way it held the whip in cruel, sharp fingers. And the way its head never moved, but somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching him right back.

Disconcerting as it was, there wasn’t really anything Roman could do about it, and after a few days, he was starting to get used to the replacement. Roman had almost convinced himself he was overreacting, if not actually mistaken when he was called into Logan’s office, just as he got into work.

His expression was stern. “Close the door on the way in,” Roman did so and sat down. “You locked up last night, correct?”

“Yeah, I was drawing one of the new displays-” Roman started but Logan held up his hand, cutting him off.

“Did you do anything else? Did you try out any,” He hesitated. “Any other artistic pursuits?”

“What?” Roman’s face twisted in confusion.

“Was anyone else with you? Did you let anyone in?”

“No?”

Logan leaned over his desk and folded his hands. “Did you mess with any of the displays?”

“No, you know I wouldn’t do that,” Roman frowned.

He sighed in either relief or exasperation and pulled out sheets of paper. They were photos of one of the autumn displays. Roman had noticed it when he came in. It previously was displaying raincoats but was now empty.

In the pictures, however, the raincoat mannequin had, it seemed, been… disassembled, then rebuilt into a tangled bunch of limbs and joints. The torso was upside down and the two arms jutted out from the front and back of the pelvis, bending up to hold the mannequin’s head aloft. It had been dressed in an assortment of lurid red and purple shirts from their pajama range, and someone had clearly stolen some paints from the craft department and daubed a colorful, smiling face on top of the blank space that had previously been there. They had finished it with a red pompom crudely glued onto the top of the head. The effect was alarming and put Roman in mind of a clown.

Roman looked up to see Logan’s eyes staring into him, acutely scrutinizing his reaction. The confusion and mild horror on his face seemed to put him a little bit at ease, but Logan was still a long way from relaxed.

“No, I didn’t do this,” He slowly shook his head. “Why would someone do this? I mean, I would never do this, I didn’t let anyone in or anything.”

Logan just nodded, though it was clear nothing he said was really helping the situation. 

“Did the CCTV catch who it was?” He finally asked.

Logan shook his head. “The cameras aren’t focused on any of the displays, and clearly the person knew about the placement of cameras in our security system. Another reason I think it was done by someone here.” His eyes seemed to look straight into Roman.

They went back and forth for about ten minutes, until at last Logan said he believed him, and wouldn’t pursue disciplinary action, but without any other credible explanation, there was no way he could keep letting Roman stay behind alone. Not least because, technically, he shouldn’t even have been doing it in the first place. Roman was upset, of course, but he also realized he was getting off comparatively lightly, so he didn’t make a fuss.

The next couple of weeks were difficult. Drawing the displays in the shop had helped him center himself, gave Roman some positive associations with the place. Without it, Fanton’s was just where he worked. And more importantly, somewhere he constantly had to deal with the public, all their rudeness and stupidity and fake pity. Roman was slowly but surely finding it harder and harder to keep my patience.

There was something else, though. Without being able to rely on Roman to close up, Logan had assigned it on a rota to the others in their team. Nobody really wanted the job, and a few of them complained to Roman privately, but they didn’t exactly have a say in the matter. But as the days went by he noticed that some of his colleagues were getting nervous, jumping at little noises and glancing over their shoulder. It always seemed to be the person who’d been closing up the night before. And through it all that ring mistress stood there, malicious and unmoving, brandishing her whip ready to strike.

Finally, it happened. Last Wednesday, Logan couldn’t find anyone else to do the last shift, Jan had a doctor’s appointment, Liam had a family emergency… you get the idea. Logan was going to have to do it himself. Roman had been working very hard over the days prior to get back on his good side and had managed to convince him to let Roman do the last shift with him, and stick around to do some drawing while he locked up, promising that he’d be out of the door as soon as he was. Logan reluctantly agreed.

So Wednesday rolled around, and the day went very much as normal, maybe a bit quieter than usual, but not so you’d notice. There was a slight… something in the air though, anticipation. Roman thought at the time it was him since he’d decided to use this opportunity to try and exorcise some of the feelings of unease and finally draw the mannequin that was making him so uncomfortable. But now Roman doesn’t think he ever had anything to do with it at all.

Everything was closed up, everyone else had left. It was just him and Logan. And he was making the final checks to lock up. Roman ran to the changing rooms and grabbed the small bag from my locker that contained his pencils, inks and paper, and then hurried back and over to the womenswear department. He couldn’t hear Logan anywhere, which is strange as he usually provided something of a running commentary, but he didn’t really notice.

Then he rounded the corner of one of the aisles and stopped dead: the mannequin was gone. The pedestal where the ‘Nights at the Circus’ display had stood was empty, save for a torn pile of paper maché and the headless figure of a plastic acrobat.

Roman stood there, mouth hanging open, as he tried to figure out what was going on. Had Logan done this? Was this all some elaborate ploy to frame him for… something, vandalism? That didn’t make any sense. The store around him was still and silent, and it felt as if all Roman could do was wait for something to happen. And sure enough, after a minute or two, he heard Logan’s voice calling to him.

“Roman, could you come in here for me? I need help with the taller shelf.” Except it didn’t sound quite right. There was a strangled, hoarse quality to it, like the words were being pushed out against his will.

He was terrified of what he would see when he reached him, but Roman’s only other option was to run, and if he was in trouble, Roman would never forgive himself. He pulled out his phone and pressed 999, his thumb hovering over the call button as he approached the storeroom where Logan’s voice was coming from. The door’s small window was too high, so he just had to push it open. It was so heavy against Roman’s shaking hands.

The room was dark on the other side. He reached up to turn on the lights, but the switch flipped uselessly back and forth. The light from the door illuminated a few boxes of leggings, but he couldn’t bring himself to go any further in. Just beyond the light from the door, he could see a figure, tall and thin. It could have been Logan, but he wasn’t sure.

At least until it began to move. Its steps were jerky and stiff, arms snapping out and back as it moved towards him step by step. Roman felt his own limbs seize up at the sight, and his phone slipped uselessly from his hand. The faceless figure loomed over him, and when it bent down, the finger it placed upon his lips was cold, hard plastic.

“Shhhhh…” it said. Though it had no mouth to form the sound.

The next thing he remembered was the police. He must have pressed dial before he dropped his phone. They found what was left of Logan further into the storeroom. Roman was questioned for a while, but much to the dismay of tabloid headlines everywhere, it became clear quite quickly that there was no way he could have done it. The CCTV showed him almost constantly during the period Logan would have been killed, and the only blood on him was a single, neat line across his lip.

Of course, that’s not to say the police believed his version of events either. Last he heard, they were currently working on the theory that a killer had been stalking the store for a while, and finally chose that night to strike, but they didn’t expect Roman to still be there and fled when it was clear he’d called the police. But Roman knows. He remembers. Sometimes he wakes up in the night, and he can taste the blood and plastic of that stiff and lifeless hand


End file.
